


Death Becomes Him

by owls_and_horses



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death, Feels, M/M, or is it 5+2 things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owls_and_horses/pseuds/owls_and_horses
Summary: Kryptonian deaths are messy.Or the five times Clark met Death and one (or two) time(s) Death met him.





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jessica_not_Jones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessica_not_Jones/gifts).



> Hi peeps. This is my first time for this fandom. Please give feedback. I can't promise regular updates as this is a very busy school year for but I will update as soon as possible and will NOT abandon this story. Till next time!

Clark counted how many times he died before he died.

One hundred and five.

He died one hundred and five times before he died, permanently that is.

It was probably because he was Superman. His lifestyle was dangerous, fighting superbeings every few weeks. It was also because he was Superman; he did not stay dead. Yellow sun did wonders on kryptonian biology. Honestly, dying was interesting no matter how many times he had kicked the bucket, but if he was asked, he had the six most memorable death experiences ranked in order. The topic was a bit controversial whenever it came up though, as most of the family liked to argue their points,

(“You didn’t die in like three of them,”

“Yeah but all of them are death related,”

“No, all of them are _Death_ related. You should name it ‘Five times you met Death and two times Death met you.’”

“One time Death met me. He met me once, just over a period of years.”

“That makes no sense. How can he meet you once over a period of years?”

“Look, it’s my story so I could name it whatever I want”).

 

Despite the controversy, everyone loved the gooey romance story.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I- the first time Clark dies

I- the first time Clark dies

 

The place kept changing. Since Clark floated into the place, the walls shifted and shimmered, shedded coats of paint and pillars. The floor flickered from marble, to wood, to tiles. Clark wondered if it was safe to walk on- not that it mattered, he wasn't touching it, neither was anyone else. They were all floating about the ground, him, the  _ things _ next to him…

 

A bony hand ( literally) touched his shoulder. Clark almost screamed, but his voice wasn’t working. He tilted his head in the ghoul’s direction. The figure directed him in the other direction, towards a wall. Reeling in his inability to verbally protest, Clark tried (and failed) to stop drifting towards the dead end but the ( black? Purple? Pink? ) wall shone to reveal a doorway.

 

The new room was huge. Even with his enhanced vision he couldn't comprehend the area of what he was looking at. And it was full. Queues and queues of people were snaking their way deeper into the room. He blinked at the contrast, all different persons standing one behind the other moving up to a desk. The ghoul deposited him at the end of the line and disappeared. Clark sighed and wondered how long was he going to have to wait.

* * *

 

Time moved differently here. Clark wasn't sure how long he drifted in line, could be mere seconds or years before he reached the desk. It was a simple mahogany desk with a computer and a ceramic mug with the words ‘Redheads Rock’ plastered on the side. Behind the desk, flipping through the computer was a pretty redhead with her waves falling down her back.

 

“Okay, so Clark Kent, isn't it?”

He nodded.   

“Alright Clark, welcome to The Afterlife. We’re just going to…” she trailed off with a frown and started to tap at her computer screen.

“You’re- you’re not suppose to be dead.”

Clark blinked at that. What? He was standing in the middle of the afterlife, with ghouls and dead persons and spirits and this teenager was telling him he’s not supposed to be dead?

“Sorry, there’s been a mix up apparently. Dick! Get your butt down here!”

A guy swang down from the ceiling (Clark wasn't sure how, he couldn't  even see the ceiling) and scared the life (hehe, life) out of him (he was pretty glad he couldn't scream at that moment).

“Hey Babs, what's up?” the raven haired teen asked.

“We got a 109,” she nudged her head in Clark’s direction.

“Really? I thought that was impossible in this sector!” A shared glance between them, then a glance in his direction.

“Come on big fella! We gotta see the boss for this one,” the teen called.

* * *

 

Time moved the same was through the palace, slow and fast, fluid and not, Clark had no idea how or where he walked but he felt it when he reached his destination. The heavy cold air of the deceased lifted and the open spaces became a hallway leading to tall double doors that opened on their own.

Clark felt him before he saw him. Since he entered the afterlife he felt less solid, non corporeal. Now, in his present he felt dead. His body was dissolving and he wanted to curl up and, well, die. He tried to shake off the feeling with limited success.

His appearance was stereotypical. Black flowing robes, scythe in hand. Clark couldn't see a face, just a black void of depression and sadness. He needed no introduction, as even a child knows the end when he sees it.

Death was imposing; and he stood tall in front of Clark.

Clark still couldn't speak but honestly, he wouldn't have anything to say, not to Death.

“Hi B, we got a 109,” Dick said.

A slight shuffle in the robes.

“Yeah,” Dick continued, “ Weird. Think you could sort it out?” 

Another slight movement.

“Good. I have a 95 to deal with so bye!” 

The boy disappeared (literally).

Death turned and started walking. Clark tried to follow him, but he was still frozen. Without looking back, death flicked his wrist, giving Clark his movement and his voice back. Down the long corridor, he tripped after Death.

* * *

 

 

“So… You’re Death,” Clark tried to make a conversation with the hooded figure (which definitely was in the top 5 strangest things he’d ever done).

“Yes,” the voice sounded amused (and warm and smooth and very,very sexy).

“So what do you do exactly?” Clark was curious. It wasn't every day he got to talk to the living embodiment of doom.

The figure stopped, “Do you really want to know or are you trying to make small talk?”

“No! I mean yes? Ammm…. I mean both,” Clark decided.

A tilt in the head, “Well I, along with my companions, collect souls within our sectors of the galaxy, distributing and sending them off to the correct next stage of life.”

“Oh?” that made sense. Wait… “Correct?” 

“Yes, everyone goes somewhere different. Like for example Earth. There are many religions with different beliefs that would all go somewhere different. That’s not counting the atheists ,  unsure persons, people without choice, who don't really care, etcetera. And all that’s not counting the thousands of other planets in my sector.”

“Oh.” Clark really didn't know what to say to that.

“You did ask,” said Death.

“I did. It sounds like an interesting job you and your companions have there. By companions do you mean the teens back there?” Clark was struggling to think of what to say. Hopefully the kids weren't a sore topic.

“No I mean the other Deaths.” Death said.

“They're other Deaths?” Somehow Clark thought Death was a one person thing.

“Yes, one for each sector.and there's a few hundred sectors. The universe is a big place Clark.”

Clark blinked, “Huh, I guess it is. So the teens are-”

“My kids.” Death’s voice was slightly strangled. Clark wondered why. The kids were probably a sore topic. Damn. 

An awkward (for Clark mainly) silence.

“Don't you want to know why your not dead?” Death inquired, “ Aliens far away from home tend to either have advantages or disadvantages on their landing sites.”

“Ammmm…” 

“The yellow sun makes it hard for you to die. Doomsday did a good job in trying, but, well-”

“He didn't do it well enough.”

And thank god he didn't. Clark wondered how Lois was doing in the face of his ‘death’. And his parents…

 

“This is your stop,” Death announced.

Clark looked back at the open gates he just floated through to the staircase in front of him, leading down.

“Oh, thanks. Will this lead me back to earth?” he queried. 

“Yes.”

“Well thanks a lot.. Death.” Clark said.

“Please,” Death intoned (and God since Clark first heard that voice he wanted to melt,) “Call me Bruce.”

Bruce flicked off his hood and their eyes met. Then he turned and walked away.

 

Clark wasn't sure how long he stood at the steps or how long he took to descend them, but he knew what his first waking thought was back on Earth.

  
‘Oh my God, Death was  _ hot _ .’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back. Hope you like it!


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where other people (almost) die.

II- On the battlefield

 

Clark hated huge alien invasions. For one thing, they tend to happen on the most inconvenient of days. Also they usually meant hours of fighting and looking for weaknesses on the enemy’s part. And unfortunately, the length of time fighting was usually proportional to the casualties and fatalities. Clark hated the unnecessary property damage and deaths among the civilians. But  it was unavoidable. No matter how hard they tried, there was always death.

 

The aliens, that were from another sector, one the Justice League were not really familiar with as it was quite far from Earth, had advance forms of rather destructive weaponry. They dropped upon America in swarms throughout the night.

 

After hours of fighting, the invasion eased as the sun rose (Hal, who had dealt with them once before through the Green Lantern Corps said that they were photosensitive).

 

Clark moved to block one of the last stray beams from an alien gun, but the beam, locked on to its original target, dropped the woman to the floor. Clark was at her side in the next second, trying to comfort her in her last moments (there was no saving her, they found that out earlier). The shadow that appeared next to him was unexpected (Clark will forever deny that he jumped).

 

“Sorry,” Death hovered, fingers running over the woman’s face stopping on her forehead. His fist closed over her as if he was holding something then he flicked his hand upwards, releasing whatever he held.

“It’s okay,” Clark lay the woman down gently, “I just didn't expect you.”

“Yes well,” a pause, “I had to be here. I’ll see you around,”

Bruce flickered to another body.

 

Clark moved from the now dead woman.

“Who was that?” Diana inquired coming up behind him. Her lasso glowed hot from its continuous use.

“Oh,” Clark gave a weird shrug, “That's Bruce.”

“Bruce? Who is this Bruce?. The aura of death surrounds him. And he is caring for the souls of the departed”

“Because… he's Death?” Clark stretched, ironing out the cricks and strained joints of his back. Even invincible solar powered aliens had knots.

The rest of the League were fuzzy behind him, probably babbling until he and Diana came to discuss the new plan to annihilate the aliens. But Clark‘s focus was on the dark figure flickering around to the bodies strewn across the rubble (and wishing that his hood would come off somehow).

 

“Death? He is Death? How do you know Death?” Diana was now squinting suspiciously at Bruce.

Another weird shrug from Clark, “I died, remember? I met him then.”

“And he told you his name? Which is Bruce?”

“Yes.”

 

Diana frowned contemplating, but let the topic drop.

 

Bruce continued to ficker around the battlefield.

* * *

 

Being superpowered people, the fatalities usually were not them. Injuries yes, but dying was left for civilians. Until it wasn't.

 

The aliens, called the Andy-me-sep-whatever-I-don’t-care by Hal, had moved to the other side of the world, where the sun had set. The Justice League had followed them across the ocean.

 

Hal was everywhere at once, because of him being the most familiar with these aliens. He barked out orders and plans keeping everyone alive. He was exhausted, which was why he snapped at the person who was clearly not in the Justice League hanging around the battlefield.

 

“Hey dark and spooky!” Hal called out to the man sitting on the sidelines, “I don't know what you're doing here but you need to evacuate the area.”

“Don't worry Lantern, I’m not easily killed,” came the reply.

“No man seriously, you can't-”

“Hey GL,” Clark interrupted, “Don't worry about him. Really.”

“What! Supes, we can't have-”

“He's the living personification of death Hal. hes fine where he is.” Clark punched an alien in to another.

“Oh. Death. Okay.” Hal grumbled, then he stopped.   

“Death! What the hell! What is Death doing here!” was Hal’s panicked reply. There were other grumbles and exclamations of horror from other League members.                         

“Helping you,” Death replied.

“Right. Sitting on the sidewalk is real helpful. Be more helpful! Like kill a few aliens for us?”

Somehow, the dark vortex where Bruce face should be looked offended.

“No I can not kill some aliens for you. That goes against my job.” Bruce huffed. “Besides, Superman is more than capable of defeating all of these aliens.”

 

Various renditions of  “What!” drifted in from different directions, Clark’s being the loudest.

“Widen you heat vision. They are photosensitive,” Bruce said it as if it was obvious. Which, Clark supposed, it was.

“Right,” Clark drawled, “Everyone back,” his eyes glowed.

He had to do a few sweeps to get everyone, the aliens started to run realising that their demise was drawing close.

The League took cover, as the aliens started to fire desperately at them, hoping to prevent their death. Somewhere during the last sweep Clark heard a scream and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

* * *

 

_Hal. Hal._

Hal’s vision came slowly in to focus to see all the League members hovered over him with concern etched on their faces.

“Hal! Oh thank goodness-”

“I told you he wasn’t dead,” snarked Death.

Hal grinned, “Of course you knew that,” he tried to snark back but crooked. He cleared his throat.

“Well seeing as it is my job, yes, of course I knew that.”

“Right.”

Hal knew many Deaths and was even friends with some, but for some reason he didn't think this one liked him.

“Well, Green Lantern can do anything, even come back from the dead,” he boasted.

“You weren't dead idiot.”

“And I'm feeling kinda special with death personally coming to reaping my soul.”

“Your soul wasn’t reaped and I really didn’t come down here for you.”

 

Death looked like he wanted to break his whole no killing rule. Hal figured he should back off a smidge. After all, he preferred his soul not reaped.

* * *

 

 

Clark and the League started the clean up as soon as Hal was declared fit for duty. Clark smiled at Bruce as he hovered next to him, helping the cleaning up in his own way, releasing souls into the Afterlife.

“Why did you say you had to be here?” Clark continued to conversation from earlier.

“Dealing with the dead is a bit more complicated when working with multiple sectors. The Andnmenes,” (Clark huffed at Bruce’s perfect pronuncation of Andnmenes) “are not from this sector so any of their deceased has to be sent to their sector, sector 422. Unfortunately, for such a long and intricate process, I have to be present, not my minions or my children.”

“Your children. Right. How does Death get children?”

“I wasn't always Death you know.”

Clark hummed turning to face Bruce, “I'm listening.”

 

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, knocking the hood off of his head. Clark didn't cheer at that act, but it was a near thing. He realised that his memory hadn’t done Bruce’s face justice. He didn't remember cheekbones being that high, or eyes that shade of blue, or-

 

“Why do you want to know?” his cobalt eyes pierced Clark.

“W-well you-u know practically e-everything about me so-so I’d like to know m-more about you.” Clark blushed at his unexpected stuttering, but Bruce didn’t comment so Clark felt a bit less embarrassed. Clark angled his whole body towards Bruce, now looking directly at him.

 

“I died,” He started, “I died, and the Death at that time said, “You know, the gods have been wanting me to find a replacement for a while, you look like you’d do good work, so how about you?’ So then I was Death, I couldn’t refuse, not really. I had to learn the ropes, quickly. I pulled my kids into the gig with me, a big mistake, but one I hadn't known at the time, and now I sort souls. It isn't a bad job. I mean, I do like it.” Bruce sighed becoming less tangible every second, half a smile on his face, “Do keep in touch Kent.”

 

Clark was left looking at the smoking building in the horizon.

 

There were screams in the distance, rubble on the ground and the League bustling around.

 

Then, right next to his ear, Hal exhaled, “Damn! Death is hot!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the (main) woman in his life is taken.

III- Martha 

Clark left the house, not because he wanted to, but because she begged him to. Yes he had spent the last two weeks in the house cooped up looking after her, but that did not mean he needed to go out. But Martha insisted, and even at 97 she was a force to be reckoned with.

“Besides,” she patted his cheek with her wrinkled hand, “I want some of that ice-cream form Marvin’s, the banana eggnog one.”

So Clark found himself walking through Smallville’s streets, trying to smile at the persons he’d known his whole life, as if everything was fine. As if he wasn't crushed on the inside. As if he wasn't dying along with his mother.

He had always known that he would outlive his parents; most children did, after all. But seeing his mother so weak, frail, it broke his heart. He had found himself in Smallville frequently these past months. And when he wasn't, he was monitoring her breathing, her heartbeat.

Walking back into the farmhouse was strange. The place felt darker, more still, like the corn was holding their breaths. Clark hurried to the steps, panic gripping his heart.

Walking into his mother’s bedroom, Clark sees that he was right to panic.

Because sitting on the edge of her bed as she slept, running his hand through her hair, was Death.

“No.”

The word came unbidden from his mouth.

“No?” Bruce echoed.

“No. no you can’t- you can’t just- no you-” Clark crumpled. His mother was dying. Death was here for her. Despite all of his ‘great’ powers, he was defenceless. He could do nothing against this enemy, against Death.

Bruce looked at him, face smooth and emotionless as his voice. He sat regal and looked flawless as ever. His next words pierced Clark’s heart and twisted his stomach.

“If you want her to survive a bit longer, get her to a hospital tonight. But even that would only buy a few days. Do say your goodbyes.”

Bruce drifted out the doorway and down the stairs.

Clark, who was frozen as Bruce spoke, unfroze and ran madly after him.

“Bruce,” Clark caught him on the porch, “What? Is there-”

“No Clark. She’s dead,” his voice still had no infliction.

Clark shook from sadness and anger. How could Bruce be so callous in speaking, so, so-

“Cruel. How could you be so unfeeling? Like it doesn't matter that my ma is dying, that-”

“Because it doesn't. People die all the time Clark. What makes her so special?”

Clark gaped at Bruce, blinking the tears from his eyes. His heart pounded, his head fuzzy and eyes unfocused. Up until today, he had never seen death as cruel, even after his father’s death. Right now though, he hated it. He hated him.

“Get out.”

Bruce dissolved in the sunlight, not needing to be told twice.

* * *

 

Clark was sitting in the waiting room, Diana on his right, her arms tightly around his shoulders and the rest of the original JL members huddled around him.

A few days Bruce had said.

It had been a few days. A week and a half to be precise. Now he was waiting for a doctor to simply come out of that room and shake their head at him. To tell him his mother was gone. Dead.

Clark sat there, waiting for tears that wouldn’t (couldn’t) fall.

* * *

“- Would not wake-”

“Nothing can be done-”

“-Gone-”

“Thank you doctor,” Diana’s voice cut through the fog in Clark’s mind.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied, “and I am truly sorry.”

Footsteps echoed on the pristine floors.

The walls were eggshell white. The air smelt like antiseptic.

Like death.

* * *

 

Brain dead. She was brain dead. Not actually dead, but might as well be.

Clark world was crumbling. His mother was everything to him, and now she was gone.

“We’ll leave the pulling of the plug to you,” the doctor had said.

Pull the plug.

* * *

 

He was sitting again, this time alone, next to her bedside. She looked sallow and pale and nothing like Martha Kent. Nothing like his mother.

He was alone, and then he wasn’t.

Bruce sat in a chair that wasn’t there before, on the wall opposite to him, looking like he had been chilling there all day.

Clark wanted to yell at him, to hit him, to hurt Bruce like Bruce had hurt him.

(He wanted to close the ten foot gap between him and Bruce. He wanted to hug Bruce. To hold him and touch him and feel him-)

“I am sorry.” Bruce hood was down. His eyes drilled in to Clark’s.

“Is, is it, he-her time?” Clark eyes were filling.

“That depends on you.”

Clark shrugged, “You seem to know better than I do.”

Bruce sighed.

“You know, I was going to send Dick. I didn't know if you wanted me to come, especially after…”

“It’s okay. Thanks for coming. Although, you could have visited me over this past week.”

“I had no idea you wanted to see me. You did tell me to get out. Besides, I'm not described as a comforting presence.”

“Comforting presence or not, it would have been nice to see you. You're my best friend.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I've not been anyone's best friend for a while.”

“Well you have been my best friend since you gave me that tablet. I mean, we use to talk every day.”

Bruce got Clark a tablet a few months ago. They talked so often, his mother and friends had gotten to a point where they would rolled their eyes whenever he held the tablet, knowing that he wouldn’t be moving from the spot he was in anytime soon. Diana had asked him when he became best friends with death. Clark was pretty sure it was when he first died.

He had left the tablet untouched when his mother sickness worsened. He didn’t want to alert Bruce to his mother’s condition.

“Yes, we did.” Bruce and his chair appeared next to Clark.

“I was young when my parents died. They were shot in front of me. I was eight. It hurts, even years later.”

“Oh,” Clark felt like crap. His mother had been there for him his whole life, and yet here he was, refusing to let her go. Bruce hadn’t his luxury of parents...

As if Bruce heard his thoughts he turned to face Clark.

“You’d miss her. How could you not? But she has lived her life Clark. A happy one. Hell, even her old age wasn’t that miserable.”

Bruce was right. His mother was healthy and moving for most of her life. She had only gotten ill three years ago.

“Time to let her go Clark,” Bruce eyes were on him again.

“Can-can you-u help me?” Clark refuses to let the tears fall.

“Okay.”

It was kind of anticlimactic. The flicking of the switches. The way the machines beeped. He watched his mother’s chest rise and fall. Then, she was still.

The doctors rushed in as Clark was rushed out by Bruce.

He was seated back down in that dreadful waiting room. This time Bruce was sitting on his left, arms around his shoulders.

Clark refuses to let even one tear fall.

(A fat tear rolled down his cheek.)

Clark was not going to cry. Not here, not now.

(Clark sobbed into Death’s cloak, his other friends whispering words of comfort around him. Death was silent.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I should be studying but....


	5. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Clark thaws out

 

IV- In the area

 

Clark had died quite a few times since his first time. Barbara’s greeting had become more familiar over time, from “Oh Clark, you are here again,” to, “Hiya Supes, it isn't your time just yet,” to, “You know you know where to go.”

The last two times she had simply waved her hand in the general direction of the hallway.

He'd been ‘walked’ out by each of the kids too. Dick cartwheel him to the exit, Jason pointed a gun, Cass appeared, lead him to the gate and disappeared before he could say thank you. Tim handed him a very confusing map that lead him in circles until the boy felt sorry for him and guided him out. Damian glared him out the door.

 

He’d say Bruce was avoiding him because despite all the time he spent in Bruce’s domain, the next time Clark met Death, he was still alive and Bruce was on earth. At least, he thought it looked like it was Bruce. Not seeing his face in thirty years could have messed with his memory.

Seeing Bruce brought back a dull ache; of his mother’s death, of their fight and not quite reconciliation.

 

And yet, as Death strolled down the streets of Central City, looking very much not like death, Clark’s heart did a full gymnastic routine.

His eyes followed Bruce, (it had to be him, there was no one else it could be) until he was no longer in sight

Clark tried to focus. After all, he had work to do.

* * *

 

Bart slowed down his eating just enough to barely pass as a regular human. Clark was irritated. At least Barry had had the sense and self control to match his eating to the other dining patrons.

“So would it work? I mean, as a cover?” he asked, his mouth still full.

“It should,” Clark resisted the urge to tell him to slow down.

“Great, thanks for meeting me Kal.”

Bart grabbed his bag, dumping his food as he stood. His steps were barely slow enough for a regular human too, and Clark wondered what had him in a hurry. He had never seen a speedster throw away food.

Well, if Bart was sick, it wasn't his problem.

 

‘Yes it is,’ a voice whispered in his head. There was a time when his first priority would have been to care for the wellbeing of his team. Now, he never saw them outside of missions.

 

He made sure his chair made noise as he got up. He still knew how to act human better than some actual humans in the JL.

A thank you and a tip later, he was outside the diner’s back door, in the alleyway, getting ready to take off.

Then there was a voice speaking one word, a familiar voice that toppled Clark’s world sideways.

_Kal._

Clark jumped and turned to face voice. Then the pain started, radiating from his sternum, rippling through his body.

Seeing him hurts.

He couldn't breathe.

It hurts.

Seeing him brought back every tainted, broken memory.

The smell of antiseptic. The blank white walls. The ringing of the monitors that he could still hear when he closed his eyes.

 

“Breathe Kal. Breathe.”

He was breathing. Why was the voice repeating those words? Wasn't he breathing?

 

It took a few minutes for him to come back to himself.

He dimly registered the park bench he was somehow sitting on and the people milling around. He heard someone ask about and ambulance, and a voice say that it was fine.

 

That voice.

 

He hadn't heard that voice in 30 years. Clark had stared at the tablet every day, sometimes for hours. A few times, he had even picked it up and almost called Bruce before chickening out. Other times, he got so angry by even seeing the shiny gray device.

 

He missed that voice.

 

“Bruce,” he whispered. He realised that he was lying down, back against the bench, head in Bruce’s lap.

“Kal,” Bruce replied.

“Why do you call me that?”

His birth name sounded so impersonal in Bruce’s mouth.

“Isn't that what everyone calls you now?”

As usual, Bruce seemed to know more about him that even he knew.

“I, I didn’t,” he paused to assemble his thoughts, “I couldn't handle hearing the name she give me after she died,” he finished.

“That's understandable,” Bruce looked at him and goddamn it, Clark hated (loved) that piercing stare.

“But that doesn't excuse the other behaviour. You needed time to heal, to grieve, but that doesn't go on forever. When my parents died I-”

“I'm not you! Can't you see? I don't know what to do. She’s gone, Lois, Barry, so many others and I can’t-” his voice broke. He sat up blinking away furious tears.

“Sometimes, living a long life is a curse,” Bruce sighed, “but Clark, you can't continue living your life in the fortress, only coming out for emergencies. And these days, when you do come out, you are overly critical of everything and everyone. The world use to see you as a beacon of light, hope. Now the new and young league members fear you.”

“What! They don't…” Bart. Bart ran off as soon as he could. He wasn't in a hurry to something, but away from something. From him.

 

“Thirty years,” Clark knew his face was frozen in horror.

“Yes,” Bruce agreed.

“I don’t know how. To change that is.”

He felt permanently hollow. To change how he had been the last thirty years…

“It’s hard. When my parents died, I didn't move for months, mentally, physically emotionally. One day Alfred came into the library where I was sitting and told me to get up. He said that he wouldn't allow me to waste the rest of my life away staring at the cracks in the walls and the books on the shelves.”

“Who’s Alfred,” as Clark processed the information Bruce shared with him, that name stood out.  

“My family's butler and friend. Did you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“I think so. Just to be clear, you're Alfred in this situation and you’re not going to let me waste away right?”

“Right.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

As Clark walked into the watchtower cafeteria silence fell. He tried not to feel awkward, like he did this every day. His boots sounded with every step, echoing through the room. He spotted Diana sitting with others. He walked over, ignoring the ache in his heart from seeing one of the last living original league members. Instead he sat down on the table with her. The two other junior leaguers scampered away from the table.

He remembered Bruce’s words, ‘ _young league members fear you.’_

Had he really become so cold?

And now he hated himself. Hated the person he had become. The person who no longer brought hope with every step. The person his parents would have never wanted him to be. He was horrible, irredeemable.

Diana locked eyes with him for a long time studying his features, his attitude.

“Kal?” she tried wearily.

“Clark,” Clark corrected.

Diana’s answering smile was as open and honest and beautiful as he remembered, and he wondered why he had ever stopped doing things to have that smile directed at him.

“Clark,” she said through her brilliant grin.

 

And maybe Clark did grow cold, but he wasn't irredeemable. He could thaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Hope you enjoy, (and that there isn't too many mistakes.)


	6. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions aren't always easy to deal with.

V- Clark dies

Tim ran into the room.

“Hey Bruce! We have a 10426597,”

Clark was dead again.

This time, after strolling pass the reception desk (hi Babs) he met Bruce waiting for him in a room that looked like it came out of a old manor, back when such houses were considered heirlooms and were passed down from generation to generation. High ceilings and marble floors aside, the room was cosy.

From all his time spent in the afterlife, Clark had gotten way too accustomed to Bruce and his family calling out numbers that supposedly represent different situations and sectors. Usually thought, the numbers had no more than five digits. Definitely not more than six.

He turned in surprise to Bruce.

“What's a 104284 -”

“A 10426597?” Bruce nose wrinkled, “Oh, they're a temporary supernatural or alien marriage nuptials that result in a victim death, but they’re partially dead, so there is a possible chance of resurrection. This happens usually with the left quadrant of this sector. We usually quarantine them though, they can get violent.”

“Oh.”

He really didn't understand a word Bruce just said. Bruce’s job was crazy and it never ceases to amaze Clark.

“There’s also a 5928 in subsector 9284 to place,” Tim continued, his face screwing up slightly.

Clark didn't bother to ask what this number stood for. He didn't know how any of them remembered all of those numbers and what they stood for.

“Can you deal with them? Or do you what me to do it?”

“Can you? That would be nice. I hate 5928’s”

“Okay. Give me a few minutes.”

Bruce walked off, Clark hurrying to catch up as usual.

* * *

 

Clark had improved since the last time he had physically seen Bruce. He had shed the Kal persona that had covered him. It was different. He was different. He took steps, small steps, that slowly returned him to Clark Kent.

And since that day, that fateful day Bruce visited him, Clark had spoken to him every day. Diana had found it funny that his best friend was literally Death personified. But Bruce had helped him transition. It took years, more than Clark cared to remember or count but it had happened. He was happy.

“Congratulations,” Bruce breathed.

And sure Bruce had told him that two years ago when he became Clark Kent again. But hearing it for Bruce when he was standing right next to him warmed him to the core.

“Thanks,” Clark blushed.

* * *

 

“Well since you're here, and we’re on the topic of deaths, outrageous and not, I'd like to show you something.”

Bruce waved his hand through the air. It shimmered and gave way to a different setting. For a moment, Clark thought he was back on earth, but he couldn't be. That farmhouse, his family’s farm house, was destroyed centuries ago. And yet somehow, it stood in front of him, yellow paint peeling, holes in the fence, Kent scrawled across the mailbox.

“Bruce, wha-”

The front door opened and his mother came out, chatting merrily with Lois and Diana. Well, he was assuming it was his mother, he had never known her being that young outside of photographs. He wanted to reach out and touch her but a hand stopped him.

“She can't see you. It’s like we’re not here.”

“But we are. Oh Bruce, is this the afterlife?”

“It is. Or at least, their version of it.”

Clark looked around, seeing other familiar faces. He eyed his ma walking over to a younger version of his pa and his heart hurt, but for all the right reasons.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don't thank me yet,” he tilted his head to the left. Clark eyes followed the movement to see a new landscape ripple in to view.

The new city was all high arches and shiny edges. The buildings glowed red with the evening sun.

Wait. Red?

Clark looked up to the red ball of fire and across to the unfamiliar terrain and architecture.

“Bruce,” his voice wobbled, “am I in-”

“Yes.”

And Clark never thought he’d see Krypton and yet his birth home was spread out in front of him. Or at least a replica of it.

“Not a replica,” Bruce murmured, “this is where the people of Krypton are. I heard that they adapted to afterlife quite easily. Probably because their religions and other beliefs were less convoluted than Earth’s.”

“My-”

“Biological parents? Penthouse to the left. Do you want to…?”

“Yes! Please, yes.”

Another ripple and Clark was in the middle of an apartment. A man and woman sat on the couch together, and wow, Clark had never realised how much he looked like is father, not until now. And he had his mother’s nose, and hands and-

“Two minutes Clark,” Bruce’s face was softer than he had ever seen it, understanding and sadness warring in his eyes.

He took one last look at the people on the chair, speaking in a hushed language that he could understand and translate but he didn’t want to. He just wanted to say here, keep this feeling forever.

“Bruce,” he called.

Clark head was spinning at the scene. Every time he thought he was getting over his crush, Bruce did something like this.

“Clark don’t. Please, just don’t.”

“Why, Bruce I_”

“Do you know what happens to me when I’m done with this job?”

Clark blinked, “Done?”

“Yes Clark, done. I’m not here forever you know. I replaced the Death before me, and eventually be replaced myself. Do you want to know what happens to me when I’m done?”

“Not really. I mean you should tell me but I’ve got the feeling that’s it's not going to be something I’ll like...”

Bruce pursed his lips. Another shimmer and they were sitting in the old room again.

“I go away, not to the afterlife, or at least, not to the one you know. I go elsewhere, where the creators send all the Deaths when they replace them. And anyone associated with me goes there too.

“My kids, I didn’t know that when I brought them here. I would have let them live. They had their whole life in front of them. Now, they never will be able to go to the afterlife, never meet their parents again.”

“Oh,” and that was, different. Not what he was expecting.

And of course, Clark thought, Bruce would feel guilty over preventing his children from seeing their parents again, despite not knowing at the time that was what he was doing.

“But Bruce-”

“No. No Clark. One day you'd appear and walk through that door to the afterlife. To your parents, friends. I'd never see you again. So don’t say anything you would regret.”

“Goddamn it Bruce. I love you. There, I said it. Yes I might never see you again but god, Bruce that really doesn’t change anything. I don’t know how, or when it happened but… You helped me. A lot. So much. You became my best friend and I… I’m… sorry. I fell for you.”

“Clark,” and Bruce sounded truly frightened, “Clark, you can’t love me.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark looked at Bruce’s eyes, pleading with him not to do this, “I’m so sorry, but I do.”

Bruce looked like someone told him a death sentence instead of a love declaration.

The room was silent but for the crackle of the fireplace.

“Your parents. Do you ever visit them?” Clark asked softly.

“I can’t. No matter how much I try to find them… I can find Alfred, but never for more than a few minutes a month.”

“Oh.”

The air again settled.

Bruce watched him for a moment before getting up.

“I have to go help Tim.”

His cloak brushed soundlessly against Clark’s arm as he exited.

Superman swallowed.

Of course falling in love with Death was a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took way too long to write this chapter...  
> But it's lighter than the last chapter... I think


	7. +I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one hundred and sixth time Clark died.

+I- The time Death meets him.

 

Clark counted how many times he died before he died. One hundred and five. He died one hundred and five times before he died, permanently that is.

This time death felt different. Final. Absolute. So he was barely surprised when Barbara looked him in the eye while smiling sadly and said, “No more chances big guy. I’m sorry. You need to wait right here for the big guy, okay?”

 

Clark simply nodded.

 

So this time, he stood in the foyer next to Barbara’s desk, waiting.

This time, Clark didn't meet Death, Death met him.

Bruce, Death, in all his robed glory, strolled into the foyer, making all the souls shrink back in terror. It was amusing, seeing all the lifeless shades suddenly scrambling to the indistinguishable edges of the room. Clark did quite the opposite however, stepping forward to meet Bruce. His heart was racing at seeing Bruce in the flesh again, not through a screen.

He wanted to reach out to Bruce. To touch him. But he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

And then, Bruce held out his hand. Clark grin was blinding as clasped it with his own.

Together, they walked down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

“Clark, how are you?”

That was a good question. He was dead. It was weird; he had been ‘dead’ before, many times. Honestly, with the amount of time he spent thinking about Death and its realm, he really should have put more thought into his actual death.

He almost expected to have the whole existential crisis he had during his first death.

He just felt relieved.

Now, as he finally thought about it, he wasn't afraid or upset. No tears. Just relief.

It was almost poetic, the sun gave him his amazing life in one breath, and took it away in another.

He was dead.

It was about time.

 

He glanced at Bruce wondering what he made of him finally being dead.

After the confession, their relationship was strained. Clark still called every day, trying to keep their friendship, but Bruce never answered. Until one day, Clark threatened to kill himself just to see Bruce again. That was the fastest Clark ever saw anyone move (and he knew at least four versions of the Flash).

So they started talking again. And if the talking eventually lead to a good bit of flirting… well, that wasn't really anyone business.

Besides, the flirting had not change the fact that Clark was annoyingly in love with Bruce, and that Bruce was stubbornly ignoring it.

 

Until Bruce started to flirt back.

 

And God he want Bruce. To be with Bruce forever. He wanted to forget all the reasons why he could not stay...

 

“I could stay.”

 

Clark breath caught on that word. Stay. He could stay here with Bruce, for as long as Bruce is Death, then he’d live with Bruce, to wherever he would go after he retired. He could live with Bruce. Forever.

Now that was a thought.

 

And Clark could see it, the laughter and breakfast and domesticity, here with Bruce.

 

Bruce eyes widen, either at the sudden change of topic or because of what the topic was changed to.

“You can,” Bruce agreed slowly, “But where would that leave your parents, friends? Could you do that to them? Never see them again?”

“Bruce, you're making this difficult.”

“I'm not. I’m being practical.  I’m showing you your options. You'll regret it Clark, not now maybe, but give it a few decades. I refuse to be the reason for your regret. Trust me Clark, I know. My children know.”

“But Bruce, I can’t- I can't lose you. Not when you've become my life.”

“Well, you won't have to worry about living anymore. You're dead.”

 

And now it sank in. he was dead. Like everyone he knew. He could meet them, see them, and be with them.

The vision of the farm house came back to him, the house that was so far back in Clark’s memories he almost forgot the chips in the paint. And Krypton. A life he never got but had a chance to regain.

“I can see them. My parents.”

“Yes. And I’m not going to be the one who took that wonderful privilege away.”

“But,” he paused, “Bruce, I lo-”

“Don’t. If you say it, I may not have enough strength to let you go.”

And that answered Clark question on whether Bruce was even hurting from this.

 “You're not going to feel the transition,” Bruce continued, “You'd just wake up. Memories are usually a bit fuzzy for the first few days.”

So I won’t remember you for a while?”

Bruce winced.

“Ahh, well you won't remember me at all. Even when you regain your memories. Where ever I affected your life would just be a gap in your memory.”

“That’s,” Clark swallowed. A lot of spaces. Bruce had comforted him, helped him regain his personality, his life. He talked to Bruce every day. “That’s a lot of gaps.”

“Is it?” Bruce asked.

That got Clark upset. How could Bruce not know how much he impacted on Clark’s life? How could he not care?

“Of course it-” he abruptly stopped at seeing Bruce eyes. And yes, Bruce could keep all his features emotionless but those eyes, they betrayed every sad thought and every piece of heartbreak Bruce was experiencing right now.

A sigh escaped his lips.

“Yes, it’s a lot of gaps. But to be fair, you won't remember why there are gaps.”

“No, I won't.”

And that hurt even more.

 

Bruce stopped in front a door.

Wooden. Vanished. Unassuming.

 “This is your stop,” He turned the handle and pushed the door open an inch, “have a happy afterlife.”

Clark jumped as a pair of dry lips touched his cheek.

“Go on,” Bruce whispered.

Clark’s feet felt heavy as he stepped forward in to the dark room. One foot in front of the other.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Si-

 

Clark span around.

 

“Bruce.” the name was a whisper on his lips.

 I love you; he wanted to say, needed to say.

Bruce eyes were the colour of the stormy sea.

“I know,” he breathed.

Clark had lived for thousands of years. He had temporarily died one hundred and five times. He died permanently once. And suddenly, he wished he had permanently died the first time, wished Doomsday had done a good job, because then he wouldn't have his soul ripping in two right now. Not here, not like this. He would have never met Bruce.

Clark turned front.

-x.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

 

Reasons. Clark had reasons to go, to leave. And at that moment, he really wished he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I end it here?!
> 
> But seriously, when the last chapter would be published is a bit shaky because I have exams for the next 9 weeks.  
> So we might have to wait till then.  
> Or not.  
> Because I procrastinate studying by reading and writing soooo....  
> We may not have that long of a wait.  
> Anywho, hoped you enjoyed!!


	8. +II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +II- the second time Death meets him or the extension of the first time, or time Clark waited 349 years to see Bruce. The name changes depending on who you ask.

+II- the second time Death meets him (or the extension of the first time, or time Clark waited 349 years to see Bruce)

 

Humans fear what they do not know.

This is why many fear death.

Even in the 25th century, when the world was full of science, death was still an unexplained, unavoidable phenomenon. Therefore, people were still terrified of it.

Clark wasn't. Somehow, someway, he knew what to expect from the afterlife.

The afterlife catered for your beliefs, or lack thereof. Clark didn't really have any; all religion hopes and expectations were ringed out of him aeons ago. But he knew somehow, that despite the conflicting beliefs of most people, he'd still be able to see his loved ones and friends.

(He was as sure of this as he was as sure of his own name(s).)

(Later, he'd wonder why he knew this).

(And even later, when he knew the answer, he’d huff in amazement at the many ways Bruce bent the rules)

Which is all he really wanted to see now.

(His heart gave a small ache for a second, like something was missing. He ignored it.)

Clark stood in an impressive cornfield. The stalks waved in the still air, towering above him. He walked through them towards the well beaten part. He didn't need to think about his location; he knew this field like the back of his hand.

He saw the farmhouse, shining in the sunlight. It had never looked like that when he knew it. He took a step towards it. Then another. When the house didn't disappear from his vision, he ran towards it, throwing open the door and calling out for his parents.

After all these years, he was finally home.

* * *

 

The afterlife wasn’t much different than regular life, well, at least for him. There probably were many people sitting at the pearly gates drinking milk and honey with God. On the flip side there were also many burning indefinitely in the ninth realm of hell. But for him, he was working, on the farm, going out with both sets of parents, exploring Krypton and hanging out with friends. He guesses that that was how the afterlife catered of people without much preference, by give them an ideal version of their life.

Clark was happy (yet every night his heart called out to another).

* * *

 

Clark’s memory was fuzzy. It took him a while to notice, but when he did, he couldn't stop.

He'd be sitting with his parents (both biological and adopted) and, while telling a story about his time on earth, he’d be unable to recall what happened next. He had years and years of life and events missing from his memories. His parents said not to worry, that he lived so long he couldn't be expected to remember all of it, but he knew it wasn't because of his longevity that he didn't remember. After all, Diana and a few others who had live long lives still remembered most of their past. And he had eidetic memory. He wasn't supposed to forget anything. And while he would remain calm in front of his parents, sometimes, when he couldn't remember simple important things like how he celebrated his one hundredth birthday, he'd simply sit in a dark room, and stare at the walls. For some reason, he'd always feel better after doing that.

He did eventually realize that he wasn't the only person missing memories, though he was the one missing the most. He was sitting with everyone around the campfire, both sets of parents, all the dead JL members and his first set of co-workers. The ritual of sitting around the campfire with everyone was an old one apparently, something they had been doing long before he died. It was one of the few times he saw everyone; people coming from their version of afterlife to sit here. The campfire was some sort of weird middle ground, where the different sectors of the afterlife fizzled out in to one. Stories were traded about life and death, good times and bad times.

It was at a time like this his Ma brought up his first death.

“It was terrifying! First you died for two weeks, and then you come back stating that you met Death and he told you it wasn't your time yet. I wondered if you were going crazy!”

There were chuckles from around the circle.

“Wait what?” Clark asked, “Did you just say I met Death?”

That seemed unlikely. How does one meet Death?

“Well that's what you told me. Said you had a conversation ‘bout the afterlife and everything. Said that you- Oh. That's odd. I can't remember what you said.”

“You did meet Death.” Diana interjected, “so did we, but I can't remember how…”

“Nah, you wouldn't. They're supposed to wipe themselves completely out of your memories when you die. Every single mention of them. Actually, I don't think anyone was even supposed to remember that Clark died,” Hal explained.

Which made sense when Clark thought about it.

“Why do you know that?” he asked Hal.

“I was a GL remember? It was my job to know those things. Not that I remember actually meeting any Deaths. As I said, they wipe your memory.”

Clark guessed that that explained why he had missing memories. That didn't explain, however, why so many of his memories were centred around Death.

* * *

 

Weird things tend to happen around the campfire. Tonight was no exception.

“Heya- oh. Ammmm… hey guys!” came the voice from the guy standing in the fire. The boy stumbled out of the flames others trailing behind him. There were outcries of awe and confusion at the group of kid from everyone sitting around the fire.

“Who the ever loving fu-”

“Did they just walk out of the fire?”

Clark looked at the faces and felt faint. Memories slammed around his head giving him an instant headache. He knew them. He knew these faces. Clark stumbled back from the fire, clutching his head.

“I know you! I know-”

“Whoa there! Yes you know us! Calm down Clark! It's just me, Dick, and the rest of my merry family.”

“Who?” he asked.

The boy blinked, “You don’t- oh. Of course not, Bru- Death wiped you. All of you.”

“Wiped? Death wiped us? Is this the thing Hal was speaking about a while ago?” Diana interrupted.

“Ahhhhh…yes… well….”

The last thing Clark expected on this Friday night was to be sitting with Death children, being lectured about the ways of the afterlife.

Dick eyes glowed in the firelight, “See the thing is, if you speak to or even see anyone death related, any of us, we’re supposed to erase all memories you have of us. At least, when you die. You're not supposed to remember anything. The wrong person remembering that we exist… well that would be bad. So anyway, we were good friends Clark. Not as close as you and B- Death of course, you two were like super friends, but you were close. With all of us.”

Dick’s ramblings made sense. Clark could almost see the hours spent talking with the siblings. He could see Death smiles, hear his laugh, hear his- (name. he couldn't remember the Death’s name.)

“Wait, you all aren't supposed to be here. Right? Don't all death related people go to some special Death place? I remember Death being upset about you all never seeing your parents again…”

“Oh. Yeah. About that. He may have given up his retirement for us to have a shot at the afterlife and allow us to see our parents. He’s now Death, like, permanently.”

Clark frowned. For some reason, his heart twinged painfully at hearing that.

* * *

 

(Clark thinks it happened on a Sunday. He couldn't be sure, not with the weird way time moved here, but he made an educated guess).

He was sitting next to both pairs of his parents, sipping on kryptonian wine. The day was syrup, sticky and slow under the red sun. Clark (Kal, he answered to either and both), tried to focus on the words coming from his mother’s mouth but the day was that warm temperature perfect for sleeping. Clark eyes kept closing. One long blink later and Clark was no longer staring at Kandor’s stunning skyline.

Instead he was in a room taken out from some old family mansion.

The air was refreshingly cool. Clark looked around at the stunning arches, carved ceiling and huge mantelpiece. His brain was turning itself upside down, trying to remember these halls, this room, this figure standing in front of him.

“Hello.”

The voice was warm and smooth and very, very-

“Bruce,” Clark whispered.

His memories returned at nausea inducing speeds. They clicked together sharply and clearly like puzzle pieces. It should have been dizzying yet all Clark felt was a faint strain of rightness.  

Weeks, months, years of friendship, of support, of laughter, of love. Days of staring at a screen, laughing, learning and sharing stories. Days of living. He didn't realise how much he died until he saw Death standing in his robed glory.

“Clark.”

They stood there for what felt like hours, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing tide waves of pent up emotions through a glance.

“How are you?”

Clark laughed at Bruce’s conversation starter. But then, small talk had never been Bruce’s strong point.

“I’m fine. I’m great. I’m- Bruce, Bruce you bastard, is that really you?”

Bruce lip curled up as he walked up to him and placed his hand on Clark’s cheek. Clark held it there and leaned in, resting his forehead against Bruce’s.

“I missed you.”

“I know. I missed you too.”

The afterlife could wait. He had his Death back.

(“So you made another deal with the universe?”

“Yep.”

“So in exchange for coming and live with me, you have to train all the new Deaths for the rest of eternity?”

“Yep.”

“That doesn't sound so bad.”

“You say that now. But there is so much to learn before you can run a sector smoothly. It takes a few hundred years to learn all the tricks of the trade. Just wait till some rookie calls me out of bed at two in the morning because he has a 10426597 and doesn’t know what to do.”

“That’s the temporary supernatural or alien marriage thing that result in a victim being half dead right? Just quarantine them; I hear they can get violent.”

Laughter rang out throughout the room.

“Clark, I love you so much.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are finished! So I'm back and I'm done. I told myself that I must finish this today (as a reward for all those patiently waiting.) All errors are mine ( I hope they're aren't any) I hope the last chapter was good and that you enjoyed it (and the rest of the fic too).  
> Thanks for taking this ride with me!  
> Chat with me on [tumblr](https://owls-and-horses.tumblr.com/)


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